


sweeter than honey

by annejumps



Series: oh, honey [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2011-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-23 14:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started when Eames, rounding a corner with his shopping basket, noticed a new display of honey, the jars gleaming an appealing warm gold in the afternoon light streaming through Ariadne's store windows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweeter than honey

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to Liz, the Eames to my Arthur, for reading this over and for Eames' last line.

  


_(thanks to[gessorosso](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7918231) for the lovely label art!)_

_How sweet are thy words unto my taste! yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth! -Psalm 119:103_

It all started when Eames, rounding a corner with his shopping basket, noticed a new display of honey, the jars gleaming an appealing warm gold in the afternoon light streaming through Ariadne's store windows.

He'd come in to her health food store as he did from time to time, seeking out specialty teas. This was one of the few stores in this part of town that carried the English teas Eames liked. He didn't really go in for a lot of the stuff in her store, although she seemed nice enough. Friendly. It didn't bother Eames if people deluded themselves into thinking all this stuff worked, but it wasn't for him. Tea, though, tea was fine. And he liked honey, too, he thought, eyes roaming over the display. Jars of liquid honey, honey with the comb in, and some handmade beeswax candles, a light honey fragrance from all of it catching his nose. He sniffed.

"There's a cold going around. Might want to pick up some of that honey for your tea in case you get a sore throat," Ariadne called from the counter. "It's really good, too. Just started getting it in from a local apiarist."

"A what?"

"Apiarist. Beekeeper. He's got a few acres outside of town. Kind of a strange guy but he supplies us with some damn good honey."

Eames picked up a jar of clover-blossom honey, the comb still in, and looked at the label. It listed the name of a nearby town, and ARTHUR'S APIARIES printed neatly on the front in what looked to be someone's actual handwriting. "Arthur. Is he cute?" Eames quipped. "Arthur sounds like an old man's name."

Ariadne tilted her head. "Eames, just buy some honey. Trust me, it's good."

Eames chose the honey he'd already picked up, and took it to the counter. He ate it the next morning with butter on his toast, and sure enough, when he started getting a sore throat over the weekend, he took it in his tea. It seemed to help. Regardless, it was delicious.

A week later, Eames figured he'd take a jar to the office where he worked as a consultant. Ariadne waved to him and walked over to where he stood in front of the Arthur's Apiaries display. "He brought some more in yesterday. Alfalfa honey," she said, indicating a new row of jars. "And blackberry." Eames picked up a jar of the blackberry. "Does he always deliver on Mondays?"

"Not always," Ariadne said with a shrug. "Usually once a week, though. So far. I told you, he's kind of a strange guy. I mean, it's not my business, but for such a young guy it's kind of strange that he's into beekeeping."

"I suppose," Eames replied, going to pick up a box of Earl Grey.

Eames took to drinking his tea with honey more often than not, and eating toast with butter and honey for breakfast (sometimes with marmalade). He read somewhere that it was healthy to take a spoonful of honey by itself, so he started doing that. Hints of the sweet taste clung to his tongue and teeth afterward, and he kept licking at the taste, usually not realizing at first that he was doing it.

He picked up some things at Ariadne's store a few more times, and got some of the beeswax candles once. When he ran out of honey, which was something that had never happened to him before, he bought some blackberry honey for himself. He wasn't really one for candles, but he lit one one evening, letting the warm honey fragrance drift through his kitchen. It was faint, but Eames' nose kept straining for it.

One day, he arrived to the health food store as another car was leaving, but didn't think anything of it. "You just missed him," Ariadne told him as he entered the store.

"Missed who?" Eames asked, furrowing his brow.

"Arthur! He's started making soap, can you believe that?" She walked over to Arthur's display to pick up some small bars wrapped in unbleached paper, wrapped with raffia, a little handprinted tag reading, of course, ARTHUR'S APIARIES. "Honey's very good for the skin. You should try it. Not that you need any help," she added with a roll of her eyes.

Eames used the soap in the shower the next morning, trying as he sniffed the fragrant foaming bubbles to imagine just what this Arthur was like.

He needed to pick up some more Earl Grey a week or so later, and went right over to Arthur's display as usual. "He's started making honey marinades," Ariadne said at his elbow, in impressed tones, pointing out a new set of taller bottles. Honey garlic and orange honey. Eames picked up a bottle of the former. "Try it on chicken," Ariadne suggested.

"I think he can pretty much do anything he sets his mind to," she added, indicating a newspaper clipping taped to the side of the display. Eames bent to read it. It was a short blurb about how 28-year-old Arthur Levine, Ph.D. and member of the American Association of Professional Apiculturists, as well as the author of a paper on dying bee colonies, was trying to revive the local honeybees. The article ended with a recipe for honey-glazed salmon.

Eames was struck by the picture, though, of Arthur in his... bee hazmat suit, or whatever, holding the helmet under his arm and smiling just slightly, as if he wanted to get back to his work. He was dark-haired and sloe-eyed, with dimples.

Eames picked up some salmon on the way home from work, and he didn't quite lick up every drop of the glaze he'd made from Arthur's blackberry honey, but it was a near thing.

The next morning, in the shower, he couldn't stop himself from thinking that Arthur's hands had held the spoon that stirred the soap, and his hands had molded it, wrapped it. Eames was very nearly late for work.

It came to him during his lunch break like a bolt out of the blue. He looked up Ariadne's shop number online and called her.

Two days later, she called. "He's here," she said in a low voice, "but you have to come now."

Eames excused himself saying he had gotten a call for lunch with a client. People in the office didn't usually question him, as he was a mysterious, dashing Englishman.

Standing with his back to Eames, bending to take things out of a crate was a slim young man in dark jeans and leather boots, and a white t-shirt. Now what, Eames thought rather stupidly. Of course he couldn't look like he'd come here specifically to see Arthur. That would be crazy.

His heart was pounding as he walked past the man, pretending to look over the aloe vera juice, rounding the corner as casually as he could, heading toward the tea. Yes, tea. Thank God for tea.

Ariadne appeared, and smiled at him. "More Earl Grey?" she asked in a slightly louder voice than strictly necessary, going to get a box of it, then rounding the corner back to Arthur's display, saying to the man as he straightened up, "Arthur, Eames here is a big fan of your honey."

Eames followed, helpless. Arthur smiled at him, his chocolate brown eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh yeah? I brought in some wildflower honey, if you'd like to try that. Ari, can you get us a spoon?"

Eames made some sort of reply. Ariadne got a spoon, and Arthur squeezed some honey onto it, and Eames stood there in the middle of the store trying to lick the utterly delicious wildflower honey off the spoon in the least erotic way possible so as not to look like he was someone Arthur should avoid. He was not at all sure he succeeded.

"What do you think?" Arthur asked, watching him closely.

"S'fabulous," Eames rasped, discreetly licking traces of it from his lower lip. "Best yet."

Arthur's smile widened. "Ah. Good."

Ariadne had gone to help a customer and Eames stood there holding his spoon and his box of tea, watching Arthur unpack things and shelve them. "D'you ever get stung?" he asked, watching Arthur's hands. The man had beautiful hands.

Arthur shrugged, one corner of his mouth quirking up. "Sometimes. It's just part of being an apiarist."

Ariadne returned and retrieved her spoon. "Arthur, maybe Eames would like a tour of your hives sometime," she said, and Eames gave her a sharp look. When Arthur bent down to pick up some more jars, she mouthed "He's gay" and Eames mouthed "Right, fine, shut up," in return. "Yes, that would be lovely, if you wouldn't mind," he said when Arthur straightened up.

"Sure." Not missing a beat, Arthur reached into his back pocket to take out a business card, and he handed it to Eames. "This Saturday afternoon, if you've got some time." He seemed to lock eyes with Eames a little bit longer than was strictly necessary.

That was how Eames ended up in his own borrowed bee hazmat suit that Saturday afternoon, following Arthur among the hives out in a field near some fruit trees as Arthur explained how he gathered honey. Eames was a bit skittish about all the bees, hazmat suit or not, although he didn't admit it. They didn't spend too much time out there, although Eames did appreciate Arthur bothering to explain to him, and told him so, and thanked him for answering his questions.

Arthur lived on his acreage, in an old farmhouse that he'd fixed up, and he had enclosed the back porch to make a sort of office. After they took the suits off, he showed Eames how he cut the honeycomb, the jars and labels he used, some of his beekeeping books and ledgers, and a new hive he was in the middle of building.

"I hope this isn't boring you," he said, rubbing the back of his head as he considered Eames. "It's all very... specific to the beekeeping industry."

"I'm not bored," Eames replied, shaking his head. If it had been anyone else, he knew, he'd be bored to tears.

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" Arthur asked, tilting his chin up, watching Eames, a little color to his cheeks as if he thought he might be too bold.

Eames raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to answer. "I'm making mango-honey chicken. I eat a lot of honey," Arthur added, ducking his head, and Eames grinned.

"Absolutely. I would love to stay for dinner."

Arthur's kitchen towels were yellow with tiny bees on them ("Gift from my mother," he explained.) They ate on the steps of Arthur's back porch and watched the sun set. When the fireflies started to come out over the wildflower fields, Arthur said, "Do you, uh, want to help me make some madeleines?"

That was how Eames ended up making madeleines with lavender honey with a man he'd just met that week. They couldn't help sampling some of the honey.

After Arthur put the madeleines in the oven and set the timer, Eames pressed him against the counter and kissed him. For a moment, Arthur froze, and Eames nearly started to panic; then Arthur melted against him, with a soft sound, pulling him close. Eames chased the taste of sweetness on Arthur's tongue, a hand in the dark curls at the back of his head. Arthur put his hands under Eames' shirt and spread his fingers over Eames' skin.

When the timer went off, they both jumped like they'd been shocked.

That night in bed, his chin resting on Eames’ shoulder, Arthur explained the mating behavior of virgin queen bees and actually made it sound sexy. At first, he hadn't even been trying. It seemed to Eames that Arthur just made everything sexy.

Arthur put strawberries and honey in their oatmeal the next morning.

About three months later, Eames was finally stung by a bee, on his forearm while he was lying in the hammock. Arthur pulled out the stinger, applied a paste of baking soda and water, and got Eames some ice and ibuprofen to reduce swelling.

"Do you want me to kiss it and make it better?" he teased.

Eames wrapped his unstung arm around Arthur’s waist and pulled the man into his lap. "Always, darling."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Arthur's Apiaries](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918231) by [gessorosso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gessorosso/pseuds/gessorosso)




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